Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
I never allowed myself to rush. Anticipation was half the pleasure. I watched as my son stripped naked under my stare, his eyes at first unsure, but soon darting everywhere but my face as the reality set in. He stood in front of me, sheepish, cock already thick and stubbornly upright, the flush on his neck creeping down to his chest. I patted my lap with deliberate slowness. "Now," I said, the command as simple as it was absolute.
He hesitated, but just for a heartbeat. When he climbed over my knees, the trust in him almost made me soften. Almost. He settled, the hard length of him jutting against my thigh, his body warm and rigid and, despite himself, shivering. I pressed my knees together, trapping him, the thick head of his cock cushioned between the muscle of my thighs. I could feel it pulse. He could feel how easily I could squeeze, pin him, deny him. He squirmed reflexively.
"You're already so worked up," I murmured, leaning in so my words tickled the back of his ear, "and I haven't even started. Is this what you want?" He tried to shake his head, a child’s denial, but his body betrayed him. "Say it," I demanded, tightening my grip just enough to make him gasp. “Tell me the truth.”
"I—" His voice shook. "I want it."
"Want what?" I said, crisp. My palm hovered above his bare ass, tracing circles in the air. A curl of anticipation ran through my belly. Wet heat sank from there until the spot at the apex of my thighs felt like an inferno.
"To be punished," he whispered. "By you."
It was all the invitation I needed.
The first slap was measured, stinging, but gentle enough to make him think he could handle it. I loved the way his muscles tensed under my hand, the way his hips flexed forward, grinding himself instinctively against my thigh. The next landed harder, the sound sharp and satisfying, echoing off the bare walls. He whimpered, and I shushed him with a caress along his lower back. My hand was a metronome: even, steady, unwavering, building the ache, the heat, the expectation.
"You know why you're here," I said, never breaking rhythm. "Because you can't help yourself. Because you think about me at night. Because you touch yourself to the thought of your own mother." I smiled as he moaned, face buried in the crook of his arm. "Say it," I ordered, and delivered a slap that left my palm stinging, a print already blossoming on his skin. “If you’re man enough to think disgusting thoughts of me when you jerk off, you’re man enough to admit it.”